Thylacines on Bourbon Street
by Kirok
Summary: All beautiful women are trouble in one way or another, but you know you've got real trouble when they pull a gun on you! A Crimson Skies fan fiction: 1937 in the Shattered States of America, the first installment in "The Flight of the Pascal" series.


Thylacines on Bourbon Street

Chapter 1 - All beautiful women are trouble!

All beautiful women are trouble in one way or another, you just can't always pick how its going to be. Some are innocent and trouble just seems to follow them, others create trouble like a cyclone that sweeps though your life leaving you a crumpled wreck behind them.

You know you've got real trouble when they pull a gun on you though.

Fred "Bluey" MacAllister and his boss and best friend, Captain Charles Wentworth Wetherall – Changa to his mates – had been stateside for three months now, looking for opportunities in the political chaos of what was left of the United States and they were starting to wonder if they should have stayed in Australia! Three months of meetings with greasy Hollywood money managers and their offers of fame and fortune, straight-laced agents of the People's Collective with hard luck stories, clandestine meetings with pirates ranging from leather-clad ruffians to swashbuckling ne'er-do-wells.

And now this!

They had been waiting in this plush hotel room above Bourbon Street in New Orleans for nearly thirty minutes now, waiting to meet the principal of a private business venture being raised in French Louisiana. French entrepreneurs were common in New Orleans thriving Mississippi trade but this was far more ambitious than just flying aerial cover on river barges!

Wetherall was the first to react. He wasn't renowned for his patience and he'd had more guns than fingers pointed at him, ranging from 75mm howitzers to an ancient blunderbuss in the hands of a native chief. Sitting around on a hot July night in an ill-fitting, uncomfortable tuxedo he'd bought to impress the investors didn't help either!

"What is this, lady? Some kind of shakedown? Put the toy away and toddle off, we're busy right now" He bent forward to place his drink on the table, freeing his hands to make a grab for his own gun.

"Don't make any sudden moves, Captain Wetherall, because I could put a bullet through that rather bedraggled boutonniere of yours from ten paces if I wanted to. So please, have a care."

Willowy slim and a shade over five-six in her bare feet, she was no amazon but she didn't need to be, the pistol she held so steadily in her right hand was the great leveler.

"We love to run the ragged edge of danger, don't we? We see a chance – does she know how to use the gun? - so we gamble and raise the stakes."

She was a stunner, that was for sure, a French Eurasian from her complexion and accent. Two years in New Caledonia had made Bluey fluent in French so he could tell she was a Parisienne and, if not born to money, she was classy, very classy. From her fashionably bobbed, jet black hair to the high-heeled shoes that set off her shapely legs, she looked like she'd just stepped out of the society pages of Votre Beauté.

"I don't gamble lady. Dutchie!"

Soundlessly, a third man stepped from the shadows at the end of the long room, a drawn Webley in his hand.

"Eh bien, Captain Wetherall." The young French woman's vibrant, deeply accented voice showed no sign of resignation, but she slowly brought the automatic up and just as slowly placed it on the table beside the doorway she stood in. "May I get a cigarette?"

"Very slowly, lady, 'cos sudden moves could be real bad for your health."

"Merci, Captain."

Moving very slowly, but making it all look very elegant, she drew a cigarette from a silver case in her purse and clipped it into an impossibly long holder.

"I am the person you have come here to meet."

The two men exchanged quizzical looks. Wentworth shrugged. "Prove it."

"You are captain Charles Wentworth Wetherall, the leader of the Thylacines, until recently the Republic of Australia's top fighter squadron. You, and the men who have followed you, are looking for employment. You are here to discuss the command of a flight of top-rate planes and a fleet class combat zeppelin. The job is to ride escort for a luxury airship, departing at the end of this year on a round the world cruise."

Wentworth paused for a second then called over his shoulder, "Stand down, Dutchie. You too, Spud."

As the man in the shadows pointed his pistol to the ground, the young French woman looked from one man to the other and asked, "Spud?"

"His mate who didn't come out. He's shy" Wetherall lied. Although he didn't gamble, he was good at bluffing. After all, how many men could you hide in the same room? "And you are?"

"All you need to know for now is that I have the resources to make this offer and that, for your appearance here tonight, I will pay you and each of your men five hundred Australian pounds, in whatever currency you wish."

"A gun moll and now a millionairess? You'll forgive me if I sound skeptical."

"This was anticipated. Look in the top drawer of the bureau" She nodded to the chest to their left.

"Could you do the honours, miss?" Their experiences in the Australian Civil War had made Wetherall naturally suspicious. "Bluey, check the door."

Bluey moved quickly, taking care not to blindside Dutchie, at the same time sliding his Webley and Scott automatic out of its shoulder holster.

The young woman, meanwhile, sighed resignedly and moved across to the bureau where she opened the drawer and withdrew a slim messenger's case. Carrying it to the coffee table in the centre of the room she opened it and waved her hand at its contents.

"I think you will find that sufficient."

A soft whistle from Dutchie brought a quick rebuke from his leader. "Stay sharp fellas, remember the prisoner exchange at the Black Stump!" None of them were ever likely to forget the night when they had lost three good friends in a firefight that had been sparked by a moment's inattention.

"Thank you miss. Now perhaps you could explain the stunt with the gun?" Being held at gunpoint wasn't something he took lightly.

Gliding back across the room, she retrieved her jeweled purse and cigarette from the side table and sat in a high-backed rattan chair beside it. "You must understand, Captain, I need to be confident of the caliber of you and your men before I trust myself and my clientèle to you. If I may be so bold, I have some personal questions to ask and I would appreciate your candor in answering them. "

"Certainly, miss."

"You may call me mademoiselle." She smiled thinly. "Why did you desert your country when it needs experienced men such as yours to free itself from British influence?"

She's all business, this one, thought Bluey! He eyed his boss from the corner of his eye and saw that he was bristling visibly at the implied rebuke that no man could have got away with.

"Lady, I resigned my commission and every one of us has honourable discharge papers. We ran from nothing."

Her voice was cold and formal as she pressed her point. "I must insist on a little more information, Captain. I need to know that you will defend my ship with your lives and not run when it suits you."

Come on Changa, thought Bluey, think of the money!

"Lady, I ..."

"Mademoiselle if you please, captain." she said, once again.

"Certainly. I love my country as much as the next bloke but the price we were paying just to change one set of politicians for another was horrendous!"

Knowing the truth of what Changa had been through, Bluey could only nod sadly.

"The war was bogged down into a stalemate by the time the cease fire came. The republic will gain nothing more by force, especially with the Pommies blockading us, so they don't need soldiers like us to drive a bigger wedge between the states. They need to wake up to themselves and realise that they have more things in common than things that set them apart."

"So you are now a federalist?" she was pushing him, testing his limits.

"I'm an Australian." He replied evenly. He had nothing to prove, he'd simply moved on.

She leaned back in her seat and after a pause continued, "If you've had enough of fighting, you are applying for the wrong job, monsieur."

He shook his head. "Ma'am, the war has made us what we are, a fighting unit without parallel. Individually and as a group we've honed the skills needed to fight and survive in battle. We can't change that and, quite frankly, most of my men are larrikins who wouldn't want to. They thrive on that sort of mayhem and now have no place in a peaceful society. If they weren't following my lead now, they'd probably be either dead or on the run from the law. I'm looking for a way for us to put our skills to good use, to protect those in need of it and I can think of no one who needs us more right now than you."

She arched an eyebrow. "Oh? And what makes you say that?"

"Because, miss, what you are proposing is, to say the very least, quite foolhardy."

Her businesslike demeanor was unfazed at his estimation of her plan as her voice sweetened in a mockery of innocence. "Please continue, Captain. Enlighten me."

"You propose putting a casino into an airship, bank and all, filling it to the gun'alls with the cream of society, dripping with gold and diamonds no doubt, then floating this prize past every nation of the world? You'll not only have every pirate band from Anchorage to Lima chasing you, but your French Louisiana registry will get you little sympathy from most of the governments in North America. They're just as likely to send out their militia as retaliation for past slights. I wish you luck Mam'zelle."

Showing her first sign of emotion, she leaned forward and snapped, "Mad – moi – selle! Try it!"

Wrinkling her nose at the way that this crass Australian was butchering the simplest courtesy, she slowly leaned back and drew lingeringly on the cigarette to collect herself. She did not brook opposition kindly and when she replied, her deep, feline voice dripped with icy danger

"Do not insult me, Monsieur, with your platitudes of luck! I am a professional gambler and to me there is no such thing as luck, there is only probability which can be played one way or the other by those who know the odds."

She tapped the end of her cigarette into the crystal ashtray beside her and with her free hand she waved his objections away as if they were a wisp of nothingness.

"The airship will carry no money. All transactions will be made by gambling chips which will be purchased before boarding and exchanged for cash on disembarkation. This is standard casino practice. Our clients will pay a bond on boarding to pay for their personal security, when they land they will get 75% of their bond back, the other quarter will go as a bounty to you and the other members of security. If they are captured and held to ransom, you will not be able to claim the bounty because you will have given your life in their defense and the casino will use all our resources to rescue them or ransom them."

"As regards to government intervention, we will be negotiating extensively with each nation in advance for clearances and military aid, making them our partners in security. In addition we will have on board a number of specially invited 'guests' from each nation we are passing, including government and social figures, leading entertainment and sporting celebrities, and you captain will liaise with their militias."

Wetherall toyed with his moustache, his eyes seeing into the distance, his mind racing over the possibilities. After a second he grudgingly inclined his head towards the seated beauty before him.

"My apologies, Mad-ma-selle, for my presumption. I assume you have a similar plan to keep the pirates at bay?"

She looked him shrewdly up and down as she pondered whether he was the right man for the job or not. As a young girl, she had been a mathematical prodigy and it was second nature for her to make her decisions logically, weighing factors against each other as statistical probabilities. This man, this insufferable oaf, was the best option she had been presented with in the six months she had been searching.

She had to admit that she was impressed by what she knew of the real reason behind their departure from Australia. They had disobeyed orders to relieve a besieged infantry division, saving thousands of lives but in the process paying a terrible cost, losing half their number. Faced with the prospect of court-martialing a whole squadron who were being hailed as heroes, the top brass had offered each man an honourable discharge, a plane and enough fuel for a one-way trip out of Australia.

She needed such men as these, who judged honour above any cost to themselves, but there were aspects of the situation that were still vague and incalculable which forced her to make a decision without the surety of mathematically based logic. She had to follow her gut as her American friends put it! Rough and uncultured these men might be but they were by nature open and genuine and had a unique reputation for following their own special code of honesty.

"Gentlemen, I would like to offer you the position of security agents for this venture. I will bankroll all expenses and pay you a handsome retainer on top of the bounty you will receive from the passenger's bond."

Wetherall glanced at Bluey who grinned back at him. "We've already discussed it and we wouldn't be here tonight if we didn't want in! Thank you, Mamzelle! On behalf of my men and I, I accept."

"We must be clear on one thing, captain. I will expect complete loyalty. Not necessarily to me, but to the ship that you protect, to its passengers and crew. From this point on, security is paramount so there can be no turning back. I will need your word that even if you resign, you will respect that security."

"I can vouch for every man in my command. If you're under the protection of the Thylacines then the only way that your ship can come to harm is if the last man is dead."

"Eh bien!" She crushed her cigarette out and, rising to her feet, moved to the balcony of the room as she continued. "A word of caution, captain, once we have set up our security arrangements you will have freedom to do your job as you see fit. However I am the boss. I set the rules and if you don't follow them to my satisfaction then your second in command will take over."

Bluey chimed in for the first time, "Mademoiselle, I would never..." but was cut off by his new employer who spoke over her shoulder from the railing where she leaned out over the busy street below.

"Excuse me, monsieur MacAllister, but who said it was you?" For the first time she smiled, as if at some private joke.

"Gentlemen, if you would be so good as to keep all firearms safely pointed towards the ground, I would like to introduce you to El Corazón Negro!"

Without a sound, a tall powerfully built Latino, dressed from head to boots in tooled leather and brocaded suit stepped from the shadows of the balcony beside her, a Colt .45 in each hand.

"Buena tarde, caballeros"

TO BE CONTINUED


End file.
